family

The Power of Family

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“That’s what people do who love you. They put their arms around you and love you when you’re not so lovable.” ― Deb Caletti

“I sustain myself with the love of family.” ― Maya Angelou

A family has always been a big deal for me. When I was growing up, it was a place I called home. I felt wanted, loved, and encouraged. Was it perfect? Not by any measure. We all held our measure of imperfection. It didn’t matter, it was family. Mom and dad always held an open door and waited for me with open arms.

When I married Babe, we decided we would be a family filled with love. We wanted our five girls to know their mom and dad loved each other and modeled their love for them. We loved, we laughed, we celebrated, we cried, and we forgave. Through it all, we remain a family.

All through Babe’s suffering and death, the five girls rallied around me. They sustained me. They did it because that is what loving families do.

All through my grieving period, their love was the foundation from which I gleaned strength, courage, and determination to go on. Why? Because it is what loving families do.

Family is the place we come from and where we feel we can always return.

Family is the place where, in spite of differences, when the chips are down, we count on each other.

Not everyone has the same experience of family as I did. It is never too late to create a sense of family. It takes two people who care deeply about each other. Two people who dare venture into tomorrow. And, two people who will always have each other’s back. I found strength in my large family. I hope you find strength in your family.

Family

 

Ten More Pedals

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My family and I lived near the center of a small, western Massachusetts town for ten years. The center of the town perched on top a steep hill. The road running north and south was Jabish Road. We all dubbed the hill, Jabish Hill. It is a very steep hill that stretches for nearly a half mile on either side of the center of the town.

We were a physically active family. If we weren’t walking, or hiking in a nearby state area, we were riding our bicycles. Riding our bicycles up Jabish Hill taught me a lesson that stays with me today and sustains me in times of struggle.

When I took our five daughters bicycle riding, I rode in the rear keeping an eye on them and hollering out directions – they might say commands or orders. The one ride they didn’t like was a circle route that ended up with us cycling up Jabish Hill. The first time we went on the ride,  I said as we began the climb, “Don’t quit, just count ten pedals. That’s all. Ten pedals. You can do it.” We all made ten pedals. Then I said, “Ten more pedals. I know it’s hard. But doing ten pedals is something we can do.” We did ten pedals over and again until we made it to the top of Jabish Hill. We all felt good about our accomplishment. The girls gained confidence. After the first bicycle ride up Jabish Hill, the girls knew to do ten pedals over and again. It was the way you made it to the top.

Ten pedals, over and again, is the way I am learning to live alone, move forward, and enjoy life and tell suffering and grieving, they won’t have the last word with me.

 

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